Through New Eyes
by glishara
Summary: The tragic affairs of the first Lady Vorkosigan, through her eyes


She saw them, sometimes

She saw them, sometimes. Twining together, tangled, arms and legs and sheets wrapping around them. Hearing his laugh, caught short on a gasping breath. Mouths meeting, fingers running through short hair as they ran through hers…

She had not believed – had not wanted to believe. Ges had let it slip, stupidly – but Ges was not stupid, really, was he? He had done it deliberately, had wanted to hurt her. Wife to her brother's lover. It was there, too, in Aral's eyes, when he looked at Ges. He had hidden it well, but… yes. It was there.

She could not close her eyes without seeing it play out. Did the entire city know? Did they laugh at her, or pity her? She had loved him, loved his pride, his honor… all lies.

And so at night, as she lay under him, arching up to meet him, she tasted bitterness in his kisses, the lies frozen in his mouth. She gave herself to him as a surrogate for her brother, and she learned to hate.

#

He was hot on top of her: panting, rutting, desperate. She kept her eyes closed, and saw Aral through the spiritual wormhole the darkness left there. On duty, away. With Ges. She saw them reaching, yearning, exploring, and her body rose up in furious rejection of them. She thrust against the body that pressed into her – not even Vor, he was no one, he was an insult thrown back at Aral, a defiance of the flesh, a reassertion of her own power.

_Look,_ she silently told the writhing pair in her mind. Look at what you cast away. _Look at who wants me. Look. Look. Look._

The rhythm pounded through her blood, and the imagined lovers pushed and thrust against each other in time to her own betrayal – justice, she denied her sin. Justice. The idiot finished, his breath stalling as his cock spasmed inside of her. She felt it pulsing against her own numbness.

It should have felt less hollow. He had taken even that away.

#

He hardly even saw her. He sat on the couch, studying his flimsies, and she stretched out on the bed, tension keeping every muscle coiled in readiness for flight. He did not even look at her. Her groin throbbed with the residual heat of that day's adventure – high-born as Aral himself, rich, handsome. He had hurt her, some, but she didn't care. She didn't fuck from desire or for pleasure. She fucked her hatred out. And Aral sat there, not even noticing.

Each night's attack fell unnoticed on his oblivious back – he did not notice, or he did not care. _Look at me! Look at me…_ but he did not. He studied. He considered. He would come to her when he was ready, dutiful enough to the necessities of his rank. But he did not see. His eyes were for Ges. Ges, Ges, Ges.

She could disappear entirely, and only be noticed when Aral realized he still had no heir.

#

He looked insane, standing in her doorway, framed by the night lights of Vorbarr Sultana. His eyes were wild, and there was blood – oh, god, blood everywhere. He was supposed to be on-duty. His ship… She could not think – what was this? What had happened? Had be been –

He peeled off his tunic, threw it on a chair. "They're dead." His voice was lethal: cold, hard, and edged with a hint of a laugh, so tightly tied up. She thought if he let it out, he might never stop. His weapon belt joined the tunic.

"What?" She fought for equilibrium.

"Your lovers. Your little toys on the side. What did you think to do with them? What did you think would happen? Bitch. Bitch. Did you think I wouldn't find out?" His words came too fast, not a yell but an outpouring of anger and desperation, unfocused.

For a heartbeat, her blood chilled, but then the anger came pouring back in. Yes. This was why she had saved the anger. For this. "How _dare_ you? To come in here like this, and to accuse – you had no right! You had no place! As if I -- _I_ --" She could not finish the sentence. Hypocrisy and more: she loathed him, loathed everything about him and his name and his family. Robbed of more eloquent invective, she spat.

He slapped her. It hurt more than she had thought it could, and she could feel dampness left behind. Blood on her face, blood on his hands. "_Get out_," she hissed, the sound cutting through the silent echoes of his blow. "Go get yourself killed in your glorious battles. The sooner the better."

His jaw tensed and worked for a moment, and then he spun on his heel and stalked away. The door shut behind him.

She stood, alone. Alone. _Look at me_… He went back to Ges. And she was left behind, again. Always. She turned from the door, and her eyes fell on his tunic. Blood, blood… she picked it up and folded it quietly. It would need to be cleaned. Burned. Yes. She moved to the disposal before she could reconsider, pushed it in.

She had hurt his pride, yes. But no more. It was not vengeance, not truly. She ached, desolate and empty, and he returned to his lover. To her brother. "Aral," she whispered to the door. "Come back." But he did not hear. Of course. _Look at me._

His weapon belt had slid to the floor, and she picked it up automatically. The plasma arc in it was heavy. Her fingers traced the handle. _Look at me._ And why not? Why not?

It hurt more than she had expected.

#

Aral was numb. He laid the death-offering quietly, and lit the pyre himself, watching the flames lick up. Behind him, Ges laid a hand on his back.

He turned. Ges's face was serious. "Aral," he said. "You don't have to bear this alone."

And Aral, desperate, confused, felt something in him respond.


End file.
